Page 46 of Whiskey & Witches

“I don’t know who the One is, but I’m right certain the Golden Son is Aeden O’Malley. He’s the only true blond-hairedweanborn into his clan.”

“So if we interpret the prophecy in the literal sense, and who the hell knows for sure with a prophecy handed down from the gods, young Aeden will risk his life for another. The key is to find out exactly who that is.”

“Aye.”

“What’s the next line?”

“When the Enemy at the Gate is welcomed by the Keeper of the Sword, all that is lost shall be restored.”

“Ah. Well, we know one of your family possesses the sword. It’s what started the O’Malley/O’Connor feud to begin with. Who holds it?”

“I do.”

Damian felt surprise for the first time in a long while. Usually, like all the other Aethers before him, he caught glimpses of the future and could read a person’s mind if their thoughts were loud or emotional enough.

Ronan’s were more challenging to decipher than most because he kept his cards close to his chest and tended to be reserved. The man had an overabundance of charisma, but rarely did his teasing smile reach his eyes. Most couldn’t see the heavy weight Ronan carried on his shoulders, but Damian could.

“And the Enemy at the Gate?”

“Don’t know.” Ronan grimaced. “If I had to guess, I’d say an O’Malley. The Sword of Goibhniu is rightfully theirs, and they could be considered my enemy, all the same.”

Most people tried to apply literal translations to a prophecy, but by and large, it wasn’t that simple. For instance, Ronan might view the O’Malleys as the enemy at the gate, but they would definitely consider him the same. So there was no way the title could be applied to either without closer inspection of the situation. The more pressing matter was identifying the One and being on hand for Aeden O’Malley should the boy truly be required to sacrifice his life for another. Damian wouldn’t allow a child to die on his watch unless the Fates required it. Even then, he’d balk and try to find a way around it.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he watched Ronan carefully as he asked, “So why not give it back and save everyone the headache?”

“Can I do that? Can I bypass the prophecy and simply hand the fecking thing back?”

Ronan actually sounded hopeful, and Damian was pleasantly surprised by his reaction. “Doubtful. Once these things start, they need to play out.”

“That’s just grand,” Ronan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Before him was a man in turmoil, and Damian found it difficult to say no and send him on his way. Whatever had happened in the past, Ronan was remorseful, that much Damian could determine.

“I’ll help you.” He chuckled at his friend’s gobsmacked expression. “Provided you tell me what’s happened to date and what plan you have cooking in that head of yours.” He held up a hand when Ronan would’ve spoken. “Over a drink. I have the feeling I’m going to need it.”

CHAPTER18

Once they were firmly ensconced in the study, Damian handed Ronan a tumbler of scotch and sat across from him. As he sipped the proffered drink, Ronan thought about what he needed to say. Better to start from the beginning and tell the whole of it, or the Aether would sense the omission. There was a distinct chance he could refuse to help.

Downing the last of the alcohol for courage, Ronan began his tale.

“As you know, my father was a power-mad, abusive bastard.” He couldn’t meet Damian’s eyes. Even to this day, he felt shamed by his helplessness.

“Yes, and he’s locked in a Witches’ Council stronghold somewhere, preferably never to be heard from again, if I remember correctly.”

“Anu willin’,” Ronan muttered. “His siblings were just as evil as he was, and they all created twisted little feckers to follow in their footsteps. Seamus McLeary and Moira Doyle being two of them. If any survived that aren’t as warped as their parents, they’ve long since hied off to parts unknown.”

“What do Seamus and Moira have to do with this? I’m assuming this is where the conversation is headed.”

“Yes. When our ancestor took the sword—and let’s be clear here, I know he was a thievin’ bastard and that the Sword of Goibhniu truly belongs to the O’Malleys—we acquired their power with it. Combined with the O’Connors’ magic, it made them strong. Nearly impossible for standard witches to defeat outright, with the exception of the Thornes. Over time, that magic became diluted, but the madness it brought with it,thatgrew stronger.” Ronan’s voice was as grim as his feelings on the matter. The O’Malleys would’ve been within their rights to kill his entire family, and likely they should’ve.

“You’re not crazy.”

The Aether’s assessment brought Ronan up short. He met Damian’s considering gaze and, for a brief moment, felt hope. But just as quickly, it faded. “I may not be as mad as the rest of them, but for sure, I’m a right bastard. Make no mistake about that.”

“That remains to be seen.” With a wave of his hand, Damian refilled Ronan’s drink. “Go on. Tell me the worst of it. That’s why you’re here.”

Lifting the tumbler, Ronan took a long, slow sip of his scotch, allowing the smooth taste to wash over him even as the alcohol warmed the path from his throat to his belly. It was the best form of fortification—and courage.

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